Save the Last Dance
by Onesimus42
Summary: Drabble about Charles & Elsie dancing at the Servants' Ball. Pointless one-shot.


_**A little fic inspired by a picture Batwings79 was nice enough to photoshop for me. **_

_**I often neglect to do this, but they sadly do not belong to me. **_

Charles paused briefly on the steps to form exactly what he wanted to say. He knew she was angry, but he had his reasons. Maybe they weren't good reasons, but they were his. Of course now he would have to spend an inordinate amount of time explaining himself when he would rather be enjoying her company.

The chief issue was that he hadn't wanted to dance with her, had been pushed into it by Lord and Lady Grantham against his most ardent wishes actually. Lord Grantham had maneuvered himself and Elsie near Charles and Lady Grantham just before the dance ended, making it completely natural for them to simply change partners. He knew she could probably sense his reluctance. She usually knew his moods before he knew them himself and often gently led him into recognizing his feelings, as much as he regretted having to admit that he actually had such things. He had held himself stiffly throughout the dance, looking over her shoulder into the distance with his jaw clenched. He had kept the proper inches between his body and hers and had most certainly not spoken to her for the duration of the dance. As soon as it was over, he'd released her hand and waist, stalking away. She had begun the dance with amusement which transformed slowly to hurt and then flared quickly in anger. Strange that he had so much trouble recognizing his own feelings but could so quickly sense her changing moods, even when she kept them buttoned tightly inside that stiff black dress.

He was sure that her anger had been compounded by the fact that when he'd finally felt able to return to the ball, he'd kept as far from her as possible. He'd gone so far as to dance with Mrs. Crawley and was able to distract himself enough that he actually enjoyed the dance a little. Afterwards, he'd glanced over at Elsie who was determinedly not looking at him. The room had gotten decidedly chiller after that, and he was fairly sure that Elsie had not spoken above ten words to him for the rest of the night. He was finished with his rounds for the night, and the others were finally in bed. He was sure that more than one would likely wake with a headache in the morning, but that was not his chief concern at the moment. His chief concern was explaining his motivations to Elsie in a way that would not shatter this fragile new relationship that they had formed.

Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and knocked on her door. There was enough of a pause that he was certain that she wasn't going to grant him entry. Just as he was ready to knock again more firmly and braced himself to call out to her, the door clicked and opened just a crack. He hesitated then pushed through the door to see that she had retreated to the other side of the room and was watching him from the shadows.

"I'm surprised to see you tonight, Mr. Carson," she said tightly.

The use of his last name was a very bad sign, and he found himself retreating a half step back toward the corridor. He thought perhaps he should just leave her alone tonight to let things calm a little and speak with her tomorrow, or even the next day. There was no need to rush things, was there? Just as he was preparing to make his excuses and leave, something about the set of her shoulders caught his attention. She wasn't angry. No, that wasn't right, she was certainly angry, furious in fact, but she was hurt as well. While her fury frightened him just a little, he could never stand for her to be hurt. Not if there was anything he could do about it, that is.

"And why would that be, Elsie? I say goodnight, at least, every night and have done for awhile."

She relented at this just a bit and he saw her shoulders relax a smidge, "Well, that was before tonight."

"Why would you think tonight would be different?" he asked despite feeling that he likely knew the answer.

Exasperated, her voice rose a little, "Charles, for heaven's sake, you acted like you could barely stand to touch me. What has gotten into you?"

He sighed, "I should have known this would happen. We should have talked about it before the ball, but everything was just too rushed…"

"Talk about what? That you'd rather have nothing to do with me?"

"No!" he almost shouted before catching himself and lowering his voice appropriately, "Elsie, you should know me better than that by now," he admonished gently, "It's not that I could barely stand to touch you, but that I couldn't stand to barely touch you."

"I'm not sure that I completely understand you," she said relaxing visibly and letting her arms drop to her sides, "It's never been an issue before. We've always danced with each other. I thought this year it might be even more pleasant."

"Elsie," he explained patiently, "I've been able to tolerate it in other years because we were just friends. I didn't know how your bare skin felt under my hand," he began as he stepped closer to her and took her hand gently, "Or how your face looks beneath mine while we're lying in bed," he placed his hand on her waist and drew her closer, "Or how your hair feels as it brushes my cheek, and how it smells of lemons," he added as he laid his cheek on top of her head and began to sway gently, "Or how the skin behind your left ear tastes salty and sweet at the same time," he finished as he bent to nuzzle her neck there.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side, sighing in satisfaction, "So, you are saying that you couldn't dance with me, because you wanted to dance with me?"

He chuckled, "I suppose you could say that. How could I just barely hold you when I want to hold you as closely as possible?"

"Where did you go when you disappeared?"

He leaned back so that she could see the look in his eyes, "Outside, where it was very cold. Am I forgiven?"

"Ahhhh. Yes, I suppose so since I am dancing with you now, and there's not even any music."

"I can rectify that."

"Do you have one of those Victrolas in your pocket, then?"

"Better. Do I need to remind you of the 'years of stupidity'?"

"Well, now, I have heard you sing before. We'll have to see if it is actually better."

He leaned down so that his lips were beside her ear and began to sing softly. As she felt his breath brush her hair, she sighed in pleasure, "It is certainly better."

He did not finish his song or that dance.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


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